Dual Trigger: Condizionata Complementare
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: Even as time forgets them, their stories keep moving forward. And though to some it may seem a simple substitution for the life they were robbed of, to those who are living, it remains that they are alive. These are the expansionary tales of the Dual Trigger universe.
1. Cyan: Gozen

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Cyan Chapter 1: Gozen**

_To some philosophies, identity and sense of self are the basis for all interaction with the world and thus to abandon it is to abandon one's current grasp on reality. Needless to say, doing so haphazardly is a risky move; the new reality one comes to may be more kind or just as cruel as the last. Thus, continuing to presume such thoughts as true, it is best to direct the emerging identity with the utmost of care. Elsewise, it may very well end up worse than it began. Even as the world remains constant, the eyes viewing it may change to a darker shade and forget the light they once knew._

_-Personal Journal of Cyan Garamonde_

}§{

"Terra."

The girl with a curly blonde mess of hair mostly tied up in a high ponytail stared back at him, waiting for the next words.

"That is your name, correct?"

She nodded, declining to break his monologue.

He sighed; this was every bit as unnerving as they had told him it would be. Still, business was business. "Will you kill?" he asked, moving on to the next object of concern. If she could not, she would probably be sent back to the labs for reconditioning.

He would rather not watch that happen again anytime soon.

"Yes, Sir."

Finally, some words. He let out a breath that had caught in his lungs. "Do you _want_ to kill?"

"No, Sir."

That was unexpected. He gave a glance at the one way mirror that inhabited the right side of the wall. Why had he asked such a senseless question? He'd gone into the frying pan and right back into the fire after that. "Even if I wanted you to?"

"…If I want you to be happy, does that mean I want what you want?"

He paused. Either the girl was cognizant of the hierarchy of desire or she was simply running into some logistical errors that the technicians had yet to fix in the conditioning.

"Some would say yes," he answered, trying to keep aware of their audience. He wasn't sure where the boundary lines were, but so long as he played fairly close to the rule-set of making a perfect little killer, he would make it out fine. Still, a part of him wanted this girl to remain uncertain about her role; just as he was.

"Then I will kill." _Will, not want_.

He smiled a small, weary, humorless smile. "Not until I teach you how."

}§{

As it turned out, Terra was a natural at the business. Cyan would almost swear she had done it before, given her ability to compensate for recoil, aim quickly, and fire while moving. In fact, when given a choice, she didn't stop moving. She was exceedingly aggressive in her approach to gunmanship, often favoring rushing into a room over exercising defensive maneuvers. He tried to break her of the habit marginally, but settled for a principle of balance: frequent movement was fine, but it had to incorporate some cover in between bursts. He had been told that the cyborgs could take a full on assault out in the open so long as they did not sustain a kill shot through the eye; often using their modified limbs as shields from salvos. However, the synthetic muscles would then have to be replaced, which would mean a dose of conditioning to put them under, which would mean a shorter life span, which meant Cyan would rather not support the practice so far as Terra was concerned.

She was in his keeping, bonded to him as some put it. What hurt him hurt her and vice versa.

This was not the philosophy held by all handlers at the Social Welfare Agency, not to the full degree at any rate. But Cyan did not particularly care about connecting or fitting in. He answered questions when approached and offered his assistance when requested but otherwise kept a large professional distance from his colleagues. After the incident which terminated his previous employment, and even a little before then, he had held to the practice of only allowing himself to become attached to who and what he could protect. Currently, Terra was the only constituent of that category. Outside of her, he could barely remember the names of the people he worked with.

It had been different before, back when he had worked for Owaka-sama. But that was a part of him that was now forgotten. Back then, he laughed when a joke was told, looked out for his coworkers, and even went on social outings and engaged in idle conversation. The only trace that Cyan had been that man, that he had been Kaien Kuremonda, was the slight accent he had not quite ironed out of his Italian. Everything else, his heritage, his family, his work, was all dead and gone.

It was better this way though. Neither he nor Terra had a past to speak of; it was one more aspect for them to share. She had been found on the docks of Trapani, alone on a derelict vessel with a gunshot wound through the top of her head. Fortunately, her brain had not been damaged too badly, the bullet had bored through the skull at a diagonal vector that just missed the organ, but she still suffered a coma for almost two weeks. It was during that time that Cyan met her and chose the girl to be his. He had been thinking about naming her Alma, a name meaning "kindly" in Latin and "soul" or "essence" in many of the Iberian branches of the language.

At the time, the Agency was still finding ways to integrate Magitek into the program. As an experimental subject, his charge had undergone the treatment prior to the conditioning process. She'd woken up then, only hours from being forever changed into a tool of the government, and told them she remembered nothing besides her name: Terra Branford. In a moment of odd mercy, Cyan had decided to let her keep the name. To most people, including herself, she was only Terra; but in his journal he always referred to her by the full title.

Sometimes he questioned the decision. If she was truly his then assuming his surname would have been the proper course of action. In the end, he always came back to the same conclusion though: he wanted her to be more than that. Although he had been told that the conditioning drastically shortened her lifespan, he couldn't shake the feeling that she would outlive him, that she _should_ outlive him. He wasn't about to cut his life short, just try to make hers longer.

He didn't share this thought with the rest of the Agency, it would raise too many questions about his suitability for the role. And even though the Agency had yet to reassign a cyborg, Cyan wouldn't put it past them to be looking into the possibility in the event that a handler 'lost his nerve'.

He had come very close to doing just that a number of times. Each and every one of those times though, he decided that Terra's comfort was worth more than his. It pained him to admit it, but he wasn't as young as he used to be. He had already been transferred from one perennial employment; that single change was enough for his lifetime. It was about time that he stopped looking to further his own life and start attending to furthering the next to come.

He had to wonder though, how much was he furthering it when all he taught her was how to destroy? Yes, sometimes things had to be destroyed so that other things could move forward; but was he really teaching it to her for the right reasons or just because the higher ups said so? He had trusted Owaka-sama as a superior, but Jean Croce and Director Lorenzo… well, there was intent he agreed with, but he felt the invisible strings of bureaucracy wound tightly in this setting. Killing wasn't necessarily done for profit, but every now and then an important politician who approved their funding would get upset with someone and the SWA had little choice but to oblige. After all, the world did not run on charity.

At first, Cyan tried to pass those jobs off to less senior fratelli. There were certain perks to being good at his job and mission selection was one of the most treasured. However, as he saw the looks on their faces when they returned from the deed, he slowly came to the begrudging conclusion that if he could stomach it better, then it was his duty to take the hit.

Which was funny, considering how little he talked to any of them. But Cyan was that sort of man, the kind who valued the ideal of teamwork even if he didn't value the team. That brought him to an interesting dilemma though, because no matter how much it affected the newly initiated, it concerned him more when he recognized that it also affected Terra.

Terra, being a brainwashed cyborg, was not supposed to have any inhibitions when it came to killing, particularly on Cyan's command. She seemed to act like the other girls around the Agency, living quietly and out of the way until needed but ready for service within the half-hour or less. She performed admirably on the field and was not hampered by emotions when the bullets started to fly.

In fact, she almost became a different person whenever a firefight broke out. Although she tended to have a very repressed personality anyway, it seemed to him that she went from tender and shy to a dark, silent determination the moment she laid a finger on a gun. The funny thing was, afterwards she would go throughout the battle field and mutely close the eyes of the fallen before returning to him; always with a gaze that looked more dead than empty, as if she was sharing in the morbid fruits of her labor. He was fairly certain that, according to the conditioning, she was not supposed to do that.

Whenever they went on a "political favor" assignment though, she would return with tears in her eyes. The second time it happened, she tried to smile her way through it in a vain attempt to reassure him she was unaffected. That did not stop the tears. She still completed the jobs with the utmost efficiency, but she never stopped crying. The obvious answer was just to have her reconditioned, which Jean Croce would likely enough advocate if he ever found out, but Cyan preferred looking into alternative measures first.

When he first arrived, Cyan talked to no one. He had had enough of superfluous connections and, on top of that, he did not know who he could trust in the Agency. Even when it came to Terra, he only said what he needed to say. "_If you have questions, ask them,"_ he told her during the first training session. After the third week she asked what love was and he had rephrased the order to "_if you have questions about _work, _ask them"_. His emotional stability, although outwardly sufficient, was not quite up to the task of confronting such things. Part of his reasoning for joining the Agency had been to fully give himself to work for a while and just forget all that had happened. Even as he trusted Terra with his life, he was not at all sure he would be able to explain concepts like love without her taking it the wrong way somehow.

So he arranged to talk with the resident psychiatrist: Dr. Bianchi.

The meeting was to take place in the doctor's office, a place usually reserved for the cyborgs' interviews. On matters dealing with the adult staff on campus, the doctor tended to prefer the outdoors, but Cyan insisted on absolute privacy so the doctor had slated him in as the last spot of that day, right after Mr. Hilshire's cyborg. Cyan arrived with two thick, black sheets which he pinned up over the one way mirror in the room before taking a seat and facing the man he would be submitting his thoughts to.

"Good to see you, Mr. Garamonde," Bianchi greeted him, finishing up some notes and giving a questioning frown at the makeshift covers. "What is it you'd like to talk about?"

"Why does Terra cry, Doctor?" Cyan took the direct approach. Beating around the bush with formalities, although normally in his nature, was not very appealing at the moment.

"All the cyborgs cry in their sleep, Mr. Garamonde," the doctor answered, a little puzzled. "We haven't tacked down the exact reason yet, but we know it has something to do with the subconscious recoil response to the conditioning."

"What about when they're not asleep?"

Bianchi reflected Cyan's concerned gaze, "…Have you been harsh with her?"

"In training? No, I am certain that I affirm her for adequately executed actions and discipline is firm, but not overly stern."

"Would you mind if I did a little digging to see if anything came up to the contrary?"

"Not at all, Doctor," Cyan answered immediately. He had nothing to hide; why fear what did not exist? "Besides, it isn't after training that she cries. It is an instance almost exclusively occurring during our political stings."

Bianchi fell silent. "But not during action against terrorists, right?" he said after a long moment of contemplation.

"Correct," Cyan nodded.

"Did you explain a difference in the targets?"

"Considering our political targets don't shoot back, I think she is intelligent enough to make a distinction."

"She still functions though?"

"Absolutely. She fires without hesitation and is unhampered in reactionary reflexes or aiming capabilities."

"Hmm…" Bianchi slowly tapped his pen on his lips as he grimaced at his notes. "Mr. Garamonde, have you been talking with her about this?"

"No. Should I?"

A wry smile snuck its way onto the doctor's face. "You've been married before, right? You should know how crucial communication is in a relationship."

Cyan flinched back in his seat before protesting, "it's not _that_ kind of a relationship."

"No, but the principle holds the same. No matter how advanced our methods are, the girls at the Social Welfare Agency require emotional interaction just like any other child. Also… you may be surprised by how perceptive some of them can be."

"So you think _she _knows what's wrong?"

"It's worth half a shot. Besides, my statistics show an increase in performance directly correlated to handler-cyborg interaction. If nothing else, you should be talking with her anyway."

"…I'll try," Cyan sighed, shifting his gaze from Bianchi over to the covered mirror. Despite being cloaked in the opaque sheets that he had put up, he still stared at it as if it held his reflection.

}§{

"Terra?"

He heard a pause in the action on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of light footsteps approaching.

"Yes, Sir?" she answered as she opened the door and looked up at him. Behind her was a room nearly as empty as when he had last seen it.

Which had been her first day at the Agency.

Unlike most of the other cyborgs at the Social Welfare Agency, Terra did not have a roommate. Sometimes he had to wonder if that contributed to the austerity of the quarters.

"May I come in?" he asked, bringing his gaze down to meet hers.

"Of course, Sir," the reply was spoken with restrained excitement. Suddenly, all Bianchi's advice about needing to connect more with the girl seemed vividly applicable. She returned to the lone table in the room and took a seat.

"You've been cleaning your gun," Cyan noted, coming closer to see all the parts of her Glock handgun laid out.

He blinked. Had he really just said that? He needed to talk to her, but he wouldn't be getting anywhere just stating the obvious. "Any particular reason?" he tried to salvage the statement.

No, that would not work either. Gun maintenance was a regular part of life for both of them; she didn't need a reason to be doing it.

"It's… I… this is what I do in my leisure time, Signore," she told him haltingly. "Am I supposed to… I mean, should I be doing something else?"

_At least she's as out of her element as I am,_ he thought wryly. _Learning won't be nearly so discouraging if we are on equal starting ground._

"Today, we will try something else," he told her, searching his memory for something to talk about. It needed to be suitable for her age level, but if he chose too simple of a subject she might lose interest. What had he talked about with his son? It had only been half a year and already he couldn't recall a single thing.

Terra cocked her head to the side just a little. "What do you want to do, Signore?"

Their eyes locked for a stretching moment, hers with a hesitant eagerness and his with stubborn uncertainty. What _did_ he want to do? He wanted her to stop crying, he wanted for things to be right again, he wanted her to be… happy. Could that happen? In their line of work there were a number of wants that had to be forsaken, but did happiness have to be one of them?

"We're going to talk," he said finally, settling for the direct approach. "Do you have any paper?"

"No, Signore," she informed him, looking away as her voice dropped with the weight of the disappointment.

"That's fine then," he assured her quickly. "I think I've got some." Pulling out his pocket notebook, he perused it for an empty page. As he soon discovered, he was in need of a new pocket notebook. Settling for sacrificing an entry of trivial importance, he flipped through again and caught on a dog-eared page.

She spoke before he realized he had frozen. "Signore Garamonde?"

"Mmm? Yes?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing, thank you." He tore the page out and began the preliminary folds. "So then, how has the Glock been working? Is it satisfactory?"

"It's fine, Sir," she reported promptly. She almost went back to attending to the firearm's reassembly when a thought seemed to strike her."Er… It's a good gun!" she continued on firmly. "The best anyone has ever given me!"

_And hopefully the only gun anyone has ever given you other than your SVU-A, _he added to himself, thinking of the bullpup rifle he had issued her. He had a number of theories surrounding her known origins. Naturally, none of them were pleasant.

"The synthetic materials that compose the gun are said to be sturdier and more resistant to wear than earlier handgun models," he told her casually, laying the paper flat once more. "It was built to a list of specifications issued by the Austrian armed forces when they were looking for a newer model to employ."

Six months ago, he had not known any of that; But when he had been looking into gear for Terra he felt something more than the generic Italian Beretta was in order. To him, the Glock seemed the perfect choice, both operationally and symbolically. Terra was something new, not necessarily bold and flashy, but definitely dependable. Most of her old self had been replaced with sturdy synthetics and she served as part of a premier force ready to serve for the next generation. Despite all that though, it was always the person behind the trigger that decided the final value; and he had placed full confidence in the human beneath the cybernetics.

"What was wrong with the old model?"

"Things change with time," he answered, bringing the secondary folds of his paper up. "Even the things that stay become something new every now and then."

"Sir…?" She asked as he put the finishing touches on his transformed notebook page.

"Terra, might I ask you to call me Cyan?"

"A-Alright, Cyan!" she began again, seemingly both enthralled and thrown off balance by the request. "Is this…? A-are we talking about work right now?"

What an odd question. "… Not necessarily. Why do you ask?"

"You told me to only ask questions about work. I was wondering… I mean, I was hoping that we could... talk about more, maybe."

"Like love?"

"…Someday, yes. But I talked to Triela, you know, Hilshire's girl? And she told me it's difficult to explain and easier to experience. But it made me wonder, do you think… do you think I even _can _love?"

Triela… Cyan could just barely connect the name to the Tunisian girl who accompanied the German handler, Victor Hilshire. "So you've been talking to the other girls?"

"Only a little!" she told him quickly. Did she expect him to get mad about it? He had not thought his criticism during practice to be overly harsh, but perhaps this was just the side of her that he had not taken the time to see yet.

He smiled at her. Perhaps he was not too old to be learning after all.

"Calm yourself, Terra," he soothed. "You haven't done anything wrong. Just remember, only connect yourself to that which you can protect. Do not attach yourself to people you are incapable of aiding in their most dire hour."

He had been told by one of the staff, Amadeo perhaps, that he talked in a somewhat outdated fashion. Most second language learners approached a language from a very formal, overly correct stand point; but he had gone out of his way to learn the more eloquent and archaic terms and integrate them into his vocabulary. It did make his speech a little odd, but Cyan believed that, in keeping with his cultural heritage, it was the unique blend of elements old and new that made the best products. Besides, he found the more elder diction to be more pleasing to the ear than the contemporary stuff.

She gave him that odd, tilted look again. "Is that an order, Cyan?"

Should he make it an order? He paused himself to think seriously about the question before offering any reply. If he _did_ make it an order, she would live by the maxim to the ends of the earth. As admirable as such honor bound actions were, he felt her loyalties were better placed on less… cynical expressions. He had grown old and weary, the world seemed a dark and unfriendly place to him. Passing that on to her could save her life someday, though likely sully it in the process.

"No," he decided at last. "Not a standing one, anyway. Be careful what you pledge yourself to, this much I ask."

"I'm pledged to the Social Welfare Agency and to you, right?"

He examined the paper flower in his hand half covered with words. "Not that I am aware of," he said, leaning back in his seat a little. "To pledge is a conscious decision. I know of no such oath held in your name." _Unless the Agency has a rather cruel sense of humor_, he mused with a slight frown.

"Well… no," she admitted. "But it's written into me, isn't it? That you're what I'm supposed to protect?"

"Choose for yourself and tell me then."

He nearly winced at his own words, but if they both were to be happy then this needed to be said. It was a harsh order for a cyborg, to tell a forcedly subservient mind to think for itself. He knew, or at least suspected, that it would hurt for a while.

But after that, they would be better. After night came morning, after pain came healing.

"Until then, keep this for me," he told her, handing her the paper flower. "Keep it as a promise that better things are to come."

She readily accepted the gift and turned it over in her hands, carefully examining the scripted exterior. "What's it say?" she asked, tracing the written lines with her fingers.

The page he had chosen contained part of his hand written copy of Terra's file. What little they could deduce of her past lay there.

"Just a few memories," he said simply. "Keep it folded, things are better that way for now."

"For now?"

"Yes."

"But later?"

"Later we will read it together."

"Are you certain, Sir?"

"I promise, Terra."

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Gozen: Japanese for Morning

Welcome to the first story of the first volume of Dual Trigger: Condizionata Complementare! For those who don't know, this is a collection of expansion stories to augment the Dual Trigger series; an odd mix of Final Fantasy of all forms and Gunslinger Girl. Essentially set in an alternate version of the Gunslinger Girl universe, this series adapts various Final Fantasy characters into the fold and contains overarching themes of two-element synergy. For further reading, check out Dual Trigger: Aria di Mezzo Carattere and the coming-soon sequel volume Dual Trigger: Dalla Polvere Alla Polvere.

Research Notes:  
**Glock**: The Glock (first model: Glock 17) is the premier firearm designed by Gaston Glock. It is a popular handgun and is noted for its synthetic, rather than metal, frame; a rarity at the time.

**Dragunov SVU-A**: An automatic variant of the Dragunov SVU, this bullpup configuration of the well-known SVD doesn't quite match the range of its unabridged cousin, but is slightly less cumbersome; particularly given a small person like Terra as the user. The automatic function could be considered helpful in a close-quarters pinch; but since the standard magazine only holds ten rounds, modifications would have to be made for it to be of any sustained use in that situation. Thus, it is best used as a mid-ranged sniper rifle.

**Trapani**: A port city located on the far western tip of Sicily, just across from Tunisia to the south west.

**Origami**: The flower Cyan makes here is a very simple creation and is likely a beginner's step to further feats in the art.

Previously Established Character Notes:

**Cyan Garamonde**(From Final Fantasy VI): "_I've got a job to do. Besides, a cyborg without a handler is an awfully lonesome existence."_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 1

A man of mixed British and Japanese descent, Cyan was formerly a bodyguard with a wife and child. Unknown events have left him seeking a new life. He is a tough but fair man who may suffer from just a tad of arrogance but will never turn his back on his honor-bound duty.

**Terra Branford**(From Final Fantasy VI): "_But, I feel like we were friends. Or we would have been. Do you remember which?"_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 1

Little is known about Terra, other than the events stated in this chapter. Although she is alien to social interactions, she possesses a strong will to protect others and a strange sense of morality concerning her work. She is roughly eleven years old.

**Jean Croce**(From Gunslinger Girl): "_Forgetting about the past doesn't make the future brighter, it just removes your point of reference."_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 1

A natural born Italian and the head of the handlers, Jean lost his family to a terrorist car bombing. He and his brother, Jose, now serve the Social Welfare Agency(SWA) as handlers. Jean hunts terrorists with an unrivaled passion, but he is also very strategic in his work. It is speculated by some that he has let this pursuit consume him beyond the point of standard morality.

**Doctor Bianchi**(From Gunslinger Girl): "_I'll see if it's within my power to answer."_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 4

A psychology doctor at the SWA, Dr. Bianchi is a calm and gentle man who takes his work seriously and does his best to help the cyborgs (and at times, the staff) of the Agency through their considerable emotional and psychological quandaries. If nothing else, he means well and offers his aid as far as is professionally acceptable.


	2. Cyan: Kiri

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Cyan Chapter 2: Kiri**

"_The longest journey begins with a single step", that first step is often the hardest. Following that logic, it is imperative that one not untake the first step if they wish to complete the journey. Many things in this world we mistake for permanence, but in reality there is much that decays if we allow it to stagnate. Although I have made some progress with Terra Branford, I must be vigilant and ensure that progress is not lost to my own idling._

_It has recently come into question that Miss Branford may not be performing up to par, that we are not working together as well as we could be._

_I told them that I am making great strides, that Miss Branford is becoming more acclimated to her life, that she almost seems a normal girl now._

_They told me I should recondition her._

_I have one week to change their minds._

_-Personal Journal of Cyan Garamonde _

}§{

Terra tugged at the edges of the colored square of paper, testing both its durability and her muscle control, before turning it over on its back and bringing her pencil to bear on the white side. It was only six A.M. and she had already tried this at least a dozen times earlier today.

Paper tore too easily, especially origami paper. When her trembling fingers pulled just a little too hard, she had to start all over again from scratch. By now, she had the message she intended to have written inside memorized.

Cyan had said that the flower he'd given her was written with memories. And although she didn't have many memories yet, she wanted to give the same right back to him. It wasn't much, but it was all she really had to offer.

It was meant to be a surprise. Getting the materials without Cyan knowing had been tough, but in the end Claes had been able to slip her a pack of red sheets of the specialty paper. _The color holds some good connotations,_ the girl told her. _Like passion and heroism._

At the moment, Terra was associating it more with frustration and impatience.

Carefully folding the paper over, she began mimicking the process Cyan had undergone. She didn't have it down perfectly, but it would have to do.

"Nel attento pazienza attendo," she murmured, smoothing the paper down after the initial folds. It was the beginning of something, one of the only things, she remembered when she thought about her past. At least she had something though, the only other girl who had anything close to a clear idea of a life before the operation was Rico, Jean Croce's cyborg. Considering the things Rico remembered were the names of medicines, state medical regulations, and the names of hospital staff, Terra felt that it was safe to categorize herself as unique in this area.

"Per te e per la promessa che abbiamo dato," she continued on, bringing folds up again to form a smaller square. She started making more preliminary folds, cementing the path ahead before treading down it. As she had discovered on her premier attempts, a badly made fold could cripple the rest of the process and was rather difficult to unmake. Thus, every move was binding and required careful assertion.

With each fold she imagined Cyan, but not as she usually saw him. The man stood an average five-foot-ten but he still towered over her rather diminutive four-foot-seven. Normally, she would look up at his profile and catch a nice worms-eye view of his prominent chin and thick, well groomed mustache framing his stubbornly indifferent mouth that neither smiled nor frowned for the vast majority of the time they were together.

In her mind, she saw him smiling a secretive smile as the two of them saw eye-to-eye, standing at an equal height. _This is what I need: someone who can decide for herself, _his expression seemed to say. _You've grown stronger, Terra. Strong enough to be trusted._

Of course, he'd never said anything of the sort and the only time they'd been relatively close to equal height was that one time when they sat at the table in her room and he folded the first flower. They never met in her room after that, but things got a little easier from then on out. Although he didn't say much, she wanted to believe that he cared about her.

Finishing up with the preparatory folds, she began the tricky part of bringing the flower's petals up from the bottom. "Quando le nostre strade si intrecciate più strettamente." she tentatively pulled at the sharp corners, coaxing the flower into bloom. "E ci sorrise, per la prima volta."

She moved as if in a trance, whispering the rest of the poem like an incantation as the creation slowly took shape. It was so close to being finished, only four petals left. Now three, now two…

Grabbing the last fold of paper, she excitedly pulled the flap down, around, and—

_Rip_.

Terra held the removed petal and its place of origin with still hands and stared for about half a minute before sighing and placing both back down on the table. She sighed to herself again and reached for another sheet of the red paper.

"E rimanere nella note non più," she muttered, beginning to fold again.

}§{

Terra dropped hard, threw her empty Glock aside, and quickly got back to her feet. The last standing Padanian reciprocated the gesture of discarding his firearm before drawing a knife and charging between the empty tables at her.

Taking two steps back, she snagged a chair, spun, and threw it headlong into his uncontrolled momentum.

He crashed to the ground, bounced once, and lay still. She slowly approached, relieved him of his combat knife, and checked his pulse. It was unlikely that the blow had killed him, but sometimes things connected just right with the wrong area. Not this time though. As she suspected, he was still alive.

She raised the blade over his neck, preparing to eliminate the last loose end. For an odd moment she stayed frozen, studying his sleeping face that would never again see daylight or the flowers bloom of next spring. _How sad_.

Blearily, his eyes blinked open and he stared back at her.

They locked gazes just long enough to exchange a look of mutual understanding. It wasn't a look of hatred or desperation that she had become so used to seeing on her victim's faces; it was an acceptance and respect to the fact that neither of them would give up.

Somehow, he got a hand between the knife and his throat; intercepting the deathblow. His other fist came up in an adrenaline filled left hook that knocked her into a cluster of chairs.

Snapping back into full alert, she sprung up and prepared to lunge at the man again. This time, she had to act without hesitance. Breaking his neck, returning the knife into his abdomen, crushing his heart; all of these she was prepared to do.

A trio of gunshots from the stairwell leading up to the ground floor broke her plans and left her assailant falling lifeless to join his comrades on the floor.

"Terra?" Cyan asked as he completed his entrance. "Are you well?"

Caught red handed in humiliating failure. What was she supposed to say?

"He… looked at me," she said, trying to articulate to both Cyan and herself why she had hesitated.

Cyan raised a cynical eyebrow. "I assume you mean in a manner different from the others."

"Well, yes. He looked _at_ me, not towards me."

"… We'll talk about this later," he told her, turning to go. Lifting the lapel of his suit, he spoke into the woven microphone. "We've finished up here. Send in the cleaners."

Terra retrieved her Glock and followed, still fumbling over the thoughts in her mind of how to explain herself.

The ride back to the Agency was spent in silence.

}§{

"Trouble with your cyborg?"

Those words were hardly what he had been seeking when he had gone outside to think alone. Cyan looked up at the old carabinieri captain who usually spent every spare minute he could off campus or locked in his study reading.

"Humanity has never been convenient, Captain," Cyan answered, taking special care to keep his tone neutral. Even the shadow of the possibility that the man was suggesting reconditioning put him in a sour mood.

The man gave him a hard look, likely the same that he used to give to new recruits who stepped out of line, before resting back on his crutch and resuming the conversation. "If you plan to deal with it by sulking, I doubt the situation will resolve very satisfactorily."

"And if I plan to deal with it by reconditioning her it will be even worse, so pardon me while I exhaust myself seeking out a better path."

It was distinctly possible that he could have been a tad more polite, but right now he didn't care.

The thought was surprising: that he of all people would be disregarding the rules of etiquette. In all fairness, he _had_ been with the Agency longer and thus was entitled to a slight advantage over his juniors. Not that it would make much difference to the former captain.

"If you're thinking about accomplishing something through co-operative effort, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Cyan went back to looking through his notebook. "You think so?"

"Tell me, Mr. Garamonde, right? How much control do you think the cyborgs have over their own lives?"

"…Their human spirit lives on."

"Answer the question directly, Mr. Garamonde. If it's not _too_ much trouble, of course."

"Why are you so interested, Captain?" Cyan asked, still uncomfortable with the man's sudden inquisitive urges. The Captain, like Cyan, was notorious for isolating himself from the others. He seemed to be the last person to take an interest in another fratello's troubles.

"Didn't they tell you? I've got a penchant for correcting the wayward," the man stated dryly. "I can't stand saps like you who get themselves up in a slump because the world doesn't conform to their ideas of what should be rather than what is. And it's Rabello, by the way."

"Charmed," Cyan muttered, keeping his eyes and hands on the notebook. "Forgive me then, but I didn't think you to be the sort of man to squander emotional energy on reprimanding me."

"Squander… now there's an odd word for it," Rabello mused. "If I got you thinking then I've already made some progress. Good soldiers don't shut down in the face of conflict, they confront it. And forgive _me_ for thinking so, but from what I've heard you used to be a lot more than a 'good' soldier."

"Used to be."

Rabello grunted and eased down onto the bench beside Cyan, looking up at the partially cloudy sky for a moment before saying, "thinking like that isn't going to get you anywhere. Nowhere good, anyway."

"It will not get Terra reconditioned."

"Yes it will. If your reliability becomes uncertain, the Agency will take the easiest course of action to solidifying your team's performance. And that would be reconditioning."

"They cannot do that without a handler's consent," Cyan said firmly, though more to assure himself than his co-worker.

"They _haven't _done it without a handler's consent," Rabello corrected him. "Not yet, anyway. Are you keen on becoming the premier case? I'm certain Dr. Belisario would oblige to the challenge."

Cyan would have liked to protest but Captain Rabello had hit upon a solid point: the Agency was eager to test their technologies whenever possible and treating it as a disciplinary lesson seemed like just the sort of excuse they would prefer.

He hung his head and exhaled slowly. His breath formed visibly in the chilly air; making a small, grayish-white puff before fading away into the morning breeze. "I… I do not know what to do with her," he grumbled, begrudging Rabello the information. "I pour my life into training that girl and they want to bring her back to a mindless slate."

"Somebody's going to," The captain said nonchalantly, leaning forward on his crutch. "If you don't break her, they will. The Agency wants results, and yours aren't quite up to par. Hesitance isn't an option in our line of work."

"Her hesitance stems from her humanity."

"Exactly, that's what they don't want in their assassins."

"So why did they not simply make a mechanized army and be done with it?" Cyan growled, glaring off at nothing in particular.

Rabello chuckled humorlessly. "They _did_ make a mechanized army. Those girls are made up of mostly synthetic materials now, their human side is long gone. I guess you could say we stole the spark of life woven by holy hands just so we could make our own framework around it."

"…It is odd that you should bring the supernatural into this, Captain," Cyan told the man after a pause of consideration. "Divinity is usually a dead concept to men like us."

"Reality exists independent of our perceptions. Whether or not it's there has nothing to do with whether or not we believe. Think of it this way: No matter what they _think_ reconditioning will do to Terra, if her 'human spirit' you're so fond of really does exist then it won't matter."

"And if it does not?"  
"Then it's best you face the truth, Mr. Garamonde. For children like them, fantasies are acceptable. For us though, it's important that we be fully aware of the circumstances."

"For her sake?"

"Her sake doesn't matter in the long run; this is for the sake of everyone else. I'd think a bodyguard of all people would understand."

Cyan went back to watching the sparsely covered sky. "I am sorry, Captain, but that would be incorrect," he murmured. "The bodyguard defends for the sake of one and no other."

"And that one is the Agency," Rabello asserted. "Get used to it."

"No," Cyan closed his eyes, "the one is her."

}§{

Jean Croce, head of the handlers, was not a man to confide in people. In fact, he was not a man for conversation in general if he could help it. However, he was also not a man foolish enough to rely on himself for resources beyond his field.

Priscilla Melori was a woman who was good at what she did. Almost to the degree that Jean was willing to deal with a few idiosyncrasies here and there if it meant full access to her skill set. Almost. He still pulled the rank card and simply ordered her to help. A distracted and annoyed Priscilla was still sufficient for his uses.

_You could always just get Hilshire to cover it for you, _Director Lorenzo had said. _I am aware that you don't enjoy working with Priscilla._

Jean didn't care what other people thought he did or didn't enjoy, he cared about results.

"Funny that the Captain, of all people, would go to talk to him," Priscilla noted, replaying the footage of the conversation in the garden. "Of course, you've got me wondering why we're watching him at all."

"Suspicions from the director," Jean Croce explained curtly as he watched over her shoulder. Cyan Garamonde had been renowned for his self-control back when he worked for Owaka corp. It was one of the reasons the Agency hired him on. However, lately he'd been showing signs of wavering commitment. If that was the case, Mr. Garamonde would no longer be a viable choice as a handler.

Even if Cyan stayed, they'd need to recondition Terra; the girl was growing soft somehow.

"And the Captain?" Melori continued, still watching the recording with entranced eyes.

"He's just relieving stress," Jean said, speaking a tick faster than his last statement. "Don't worry about it." Captain Rabello preferred quiet getaways; but when those weren't possible, such as now when he only had an hour before his next mission, he'd settle for lecturing. Problem solving in general was a perennial favorite of the Captain, and people would do just as well as puzzles in a pinch.

Up until recently, Jean would have taken this to be the case, pure and simple. However, the Captain had been showing signs of mistrust concerning the Agency's Cybernetics program of late and Director Lorenzo had grudgingly ordered Jean to look into it. Narrowing his eyes, Jean considered his former superior's odd maneuvers within Agency policies.

The man probably sought out Cyan because they shared a similar sentiment on the issue. Both were older, more conservatively minded men with firmly placed mindsets. It would be easy to discuss and test ideas off of someone who felt they shared an identity. For all they knew, Rabello was approaching Cyan simply for the sake of personal understanding.

Of course, the Captain would never let on that was what he was actually up to. He'd been in the field too long to let his confidences slip so easily.

Priscilla tilted her head to the side as she looked back over her shoulder at Jean. "How d'you figure it?"

Jean allowed himself a twitch of a smirk before settling back into the usual passive frown he wore around Priscilla. "It's simple logic, Melori. Think of the Captain's background." Jean had personally worked under Captain Rabello back when they were both in the Carabinieri. The man believed in training intelligent soldiers and part of that was understanding psychology. He probably hadn't expected his own training courses to be used against him though.

"...Whaaatever," Priscilla sighed, slumping her head down between her forearms. "Why can't you ever make things easy for us, Jean?"

Were it not for the fact that his younger brother also worked for the Agency, he would have sternly requested she address him by his last name. As things stood, he'd accepted the loss of professionalism for the sake of ease.

He stared at her intently, measuring up her words. He hated people like her who tried to make light of everything; it made it harder to tell exactly what they were thinking. Of course, that could work to their advantage if she were ever captured. Until then, Jean simply found it annoying.

"Will the Padania make it easy for you?" he asked slowly.

She paused in her survey and scooted slightly more upright. "No?"

"Then think of me as practice."

She opened her mouth, visibly groping for a retort, before thinking better of it and easing back into her previous position. He watched her just long enough to confirm that she'd really given it up before turning his attention to the recordings as well.

"It's funny that someone who used to be on security detail didn't catch the microphone in the garden," she mumbled, rubbing small circles on her forehead. "It's a good thing we had a telescopic camera on hand, he would have caught a regular one for sure."

"Garamonde is distraught, his altered mental state allows for us to play things a little closer than normal."

"Gee, I'd hate to get on your bad side."

"The Agency's bad side."

"Sometimes I wonder."

Although she spoke with her usual lighthearted tone, Jean stowed away her opinion for future reference. He didn't care if people viewed him as ruthless, but he preferred his colleagues stay objective in their opinions.

"Regardless, did the search finally yield something?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah… she's the daughter of a British diplomat who disappeared in South Africa two years back. Our contacts in the international scene hooked us up with some DNA samples, there's no denying it."

"So it's a good thing Terra Branford is officially declared dead on our records."

"She looked dead enough in the photographs," Priscilla sighed. "That mixed with the discarded tissue evidence that used to be her muscle system ought to be enough to cut the trail."

"We should change her name when we recondition her, just to be sure," he said, mostly to himself. Leaving even the trace of a trail to be followed would be foolish.

"Cyan won't like that."

"Then Cyan will have to get over himself and remember what's going on," he countered. "We're off the official radar. There are a lot of people who would love to persecute us if we ever were revealed so it's best we keep our focus rather than get caught up in useless struggles."

"But still…" Priscilla went on, unworried by Jean's assessment. "She's _his_ cyborg. The rules tend to say you can't mess with something like that."

_Idiot_. Jean waited in silence for her to comprehend her own words.

"We don't go by rules, particularly not unwritten ones," he said quietly after a moment. "We go by what is necessary and proper to achieve our goal. Are you forgetting that, Melori?"

"Dealing with handlers can be just as delicate as dealing with cyborgs, Jean," she reminded him. "Don't go messing with a man attached to a living weapon."

"He could never turn her against us."

Priscilla slowly swiveled her chair around to face him again. "You sure you want to test that?"

"He wouldn't be able to stop us. One off-balance fratello would be no match for the rest of the Agency."

"A house divided against itself cannot stand. Somebody wise said that once, right?"

"Agreed."

"…Really?" She looked duly incredulous of the statement.

"Absolutely," he continued. "Dissonance can either be harmonized or eradicated; but never allowed to persist. If Cyan refuses to come back in line we'll have to either force harmony or simply remove him from the process. Terra's reconditioning is the first step to setting things straight again."

"What happens when you're the element that's not right?"

Jean narrowed his eyes. "Elaborate, Melori."

"If you were the one disagreeing with the Agency, how would you feel about being forced back into submission?"

"I'd take orders, just like I always have. You'd be wise to do the same."

"Even if it meant abandoning Jose?"

"The Agency's smart enough to not try pulling that card," Jean said as he turned and left through the door. He wasn't about to stick around for more meaningless arguments, he had what the Director was looking for.

Beyond his orders, he was free to interpret the terms of his contract.

}§{

Cyan eyed his fellow handler, a German by the name of Victor Hilshire, with the sort of suspicion he commonly employed on most potential threats. Both of them had sufficient intelligence to know that this was not the sort of job normally handled by two fratello but Cyan had yet to understand how willingly Hilshire would play his role. The man had shown sufficiently dogmatic behavior in the past to follow through on orders, but Cyan had also heard stories to the contrary.

In this particular case though, a rather mundane mission as far as SWA assignments went, Hilshire could likely be counted on to act predictably. Their target, a Tunisian man by the title of General Leo Cristoph, was rumored to have a rather checkered past including mercenary work with a group that used child soldiers. A stain like that could make one easily forget the humanity of a target.

Of course, the SWA was more interested in the General's involvement with Sicilian Mafia elements and gun running that eventually made its way into the hands of the Lega Nord movement supporters. No matter what other crimes lay on his record, it was for these distinct reasons that he had been selected for capture or death by the Agency. Jean had made certain they understood this.

"I'm not your enemy," Hilshire said softly, only a hint of his native German accent apparent.

"Pardon me, I don't know what you're talking about," Cyan answered coolly, keeping his eyes ahead on the lamp-lit streets. Now was no time to be distracted. This was his last chance, _Terra's_ last chance, to prove they were still an operable fratello.

"I want you to succeed, to prove that you can do this without reconditioning."

"...Let's just stick to the mission."

Hilshire didn't press the subject any further.

Upon reaching the compound the general was currently staying in, the two men murmured goodbye to each other and went their separate ways with their cyborgs. It was only then that Cyan allowed himself to turn his gaze to Terra, following at his side with her modified Dragunov in a cello case. To the casual observer the two of them could pass for a girl and her uncle returning home from a recital. The night was free of any such observers though, the streets were empty as if in honor of the fratelli's presence. Of course, that did not stop the SWA from posting collateral control personnel just to be certain.

It would be a clean scene, the rest was up to her.

"Terra?" Cyan asked, looking back to the compound. "Are you ready?"  
"Yes Cyan."

"Do something for me tonight, Terra."

"Yes Cyan?"

"Show no mercy."

"...Yes sir." She unslung the cello case and began to reassemble her rifle.

He watched for only a moment before again turning away and wondering what the end of the night had in store for them.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Kiri: roughly Japanese for "Mist" or "Haze"

The words to Terra's poem are spoken in Italian to maintain a sense of mystery regarding her past. Thus, it is not so much signifying lack of understanding by those in the story, but more to stir curiosity in the reader. Also, I'm no poet, so you might be better off just imagining it's something nice rather than knowing the full depths of my inequity.

Previously Established Character Notes:

**Claes**(From Gunslinger Girl): "_It's probably the conditioning, but we didn't really miss you after that."_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 4

Rabello's Cyborg, Claes is seems as quiet and reclusive as her handler most of the time. Despite her low social capacity though, she is a solid ally and willingly speaks her well formed opinions whenever she sees fit. Although not prone to hanging out, Claes finds other ways to show her support for the other Cyborgs when possible.

**Rico**(From Gunslinger Girl): "_I really like my life at the Social Welfare Agency. Everyone is so nice to me here."_

First appeared in: Dual Trigger, Chapter 1

The Cyborg paired with Jean Croce, Rico is a happy girl who spent her entire life before joining the Agency confined to a hospital bed. Unlike most of the other girls, Rico remembers what life was like before and much prefers the use of a body that works to her previous one. Although she sometimes seems naive, Rico knows her craft well enough to keep up with Jean's harsh standards... most of the time.

Terra's poem (crafted with assistance from Google Translate since I'm not actually quadlingual):

Nel attento pazienza attendo  
Per te e per la promessa che abbiamo dato  
Quando le nostre strade si intrecciate più strettamente  
E ci sorrise, per la prima volta

Anche alla luce del sole calante,  
Io non ti dimenticherò mai.  
No tenebre tenerci  
Nessuna tempesta si rompere il nostro abbraccio

Mentre tu sei con me, io con voi  
Insieme potremo affrontare qualsiasi cosa  
E per quanto l'alba arriva, noi staremo  
E rimanere nella notte non più.

}English translation{

In careful patience I await

For you and the promise we gave

When our paths intertwined more closely

And we smiled, for the first time

Even in the waning daylight,

I will never forget you.

No darkness shall keep us

No storm shall break our embrace

As you are with me, I with you

Together we will face anything

And as dawn comes, we will stand

And remain in night no longer.


	3. Cyan: Kuru Hi

**Dual Trigger**

-By Chronic Guardian-

**Cyan Chapter 3: Kuru Hi**

_The Cyborgs of the Social Welfare Agency all have an odd habit of crying in their sleep, Terra is no exception. The doctors tell me it is a natural response to the conditioning when the brain is resetting itself in the sleep cycle and reconnects pieces of the subconscious that are otherwise inaccessible during conscious activity. So, in simple terms, they are haunted by the past the conditioning frees them from when asleep. _

_It is then indeed fortunate that they cannot remember their dreams. Whatever nightmares await Terra every night, they hold no shadow over her while she is awake. _

_-Personal Journal of Cyan Garamonde_

}§{

It was a nice, quiet, calm night to be having a meeting. Or at least, General Leo Cristoph had fared far worse in his past. However, even on the quietest of nights he kept his Redhawk revolver loaded and ready. Danger had a bad habit of finding its way back to him often, but the hunter's pistol was usually enough to end further pursuit. What was designed to stop a bear could easily stop a human, and General Leo preferred to keep his answers decisive when questioned with an opposing firearm.

Things went fairly routine, a status report from the various sectors still connected to the Cosa Nostra, rather than the Camorra, warnings about increased government activity, and the discussion of new prospects eager to get into the game despite some recent crack downs. Leo Cristoph paid it only enough attention to perform competently. Aside from being treated as a fringe affiliate due to his non-Sicilian heritage, he had little love for the company he had found himself in.

On the walk out through the open air gallery of the main building overlooking the inner courtyard, Leo couldn't help but let himself reminisce a little. The black and white moonlit landscape beyond the splotches of light throughout the compound seemed to beckon back to his early days when everything happened at night. Back then, he'd seen the world as a simple place and not yet known he was on the darker side of gray.

Pure intentions meant little when fit with the wrong setting. Much like the compound he was operating in now, formerly a church, only the slightest glimmer of innocence remained today.

"You're obsessed," his contact with the Cosa Nostra, Marcus DaTantalus, reiterated. "You're better off forgetting about them."

General Cristoph frowned slightly and continued walking. "You think children like them acclimated to society that quickly?"

"No, I think children like them are dead by now or in the custody of the state locked away in some psychiatric ward," Marcus replied bluntly. "Child soldiers don't generally 'acclimate' back into society on their own."

"What if... _He_ still has them?"

"The guy who was running the whole shabang? It's possible but I doubt it would work for long. From what you told me, he was the one who put those kids through the worst of it. How long do you think they'd let him live once it was just him and them?"

"Children... can maintain an odd sense of loyalty at times."

"Sort of like you," Marcus muttered, giving Leo a sidelong glance. "Why aren't you letting this go? It's out of your hands, you're free now."

General Cristoph stopped and intoned softly, "I didn't know they were using children."

"Sure, sure, so why does it matter now? Not like you ever beat one of those poor, wretched souls into submission."

"...I was part of it. I need to pay back for what I've done."

His associate sighed. "Look, General Leo, you have a new life now. Men like us can respect a sense of honor like yours; but we need you to focus on the now and follow through on what we need you to do. No more lookin' for former child soldiers, it raises the wrong questions with the wrong crowds."

"I'm still leaving for the mainland tonight," Leo told him. "I've left the instructions for the shipments here on my desk for you. The rest I'm taking with me."

"Thought you might say that, General." Marcus smiled to himself. "We've got five of our boys to see you over the strait. They'll be waiting for you outside."

"Thank you, you've been of great help to me. Go in peace, friend."

Marcus shook his head and waved it off. "Don't go bitin' off more than you can chew now, alright General?"

General Cristoph smiled wearily and continued walking. "Too late for that," he murmured to himself. He had crossed that line a long time ago and been chewing ever since.

_Strange_, he reflected,_ man may accrue debt so quickly when he is so incapable of working it off. Truly, what path is left open to us once we've fallen? I've wandered so far beyond the light without even realizing it._

Yes, it was only a matter of time before the world came to collect. But until then, he would try to unmake that which he had wrought.

}§{

_In the short time that he's been on the scene, General Leo Cristoph has built a reputation as an elusive man. Although it's entirely possible to attempt this mission with a single fratello, we'd rather avoid chance and send both of you to ensure success. The Triela-Hilshire fratello will begin a close quarters flush of the administration building from the south side while the Terra-Cyan fratello closes the noose from the north. Once Cristoph catches wind that something is off, he's likely to try pulling another disappearing act. Nihad, Ferro, and some of our branch agents will be overseeing the projected escape routes to slow down any attempts to that effect until one of the fratelli can provide heavy support. The General has been evading Section 1 on their every attempt to bring him in, so if we pull this off that'll be a good mark to our name. Although he's a key component in the munitions spine he is a part of, his involvement in other matters is extremely limited due to organizational discrimination against outside ethnicity in the Cosa Nostra. He can't be used for information, just make sure he dies tonight._

Terra carefully replayed the briefing in her head as she reassembled her rifle. Although the range and sniping capabilities of the Dragunov SVU-A were adequate, tonight she would be more thankful for the alternative capability of automatic fire. Cyan had issued her extended clips to facilitate the use of this function, making a close quarters firefight far more plausible if the need arose. Of course, she also carried her Glock sidearm, but Terra had never been as good with handguns as with rifles and carbines.

"Are you ready?" Cyan asked, still watching the compound for signs of life. She could only see the back of his head from this angle, his black hair groomed back into a mid-length ponytail that wagged slightly in the wind.

She gave a curt affirmative nod. Words weren't what he needed right now. She had trouble telling sometimes, but she was sure that action was what Cyan wanted this time. No more words. Words were better left for later.

Returning her nod, he pointed out the first several targets. They were easy enough to spot through the scope. A few cameras, two men with home altered carbines she couldn't identify, and someone watching from the upper story of the main building through a clear glass window, only just visible by some of the moonlight coming through. That last one was the trickiest. Should she shoot him first or last? He was probably in the best position for raising the alarm, but shooting him through the window would draw attention all the same. If he was alone, then only the soon-to-follow guards outside would notice. All things considered, it was odd they didn't have more men posted for the grounds. Terra quickly dismissed the thought by assuming they simply didn't want so many liabilities wandering around.

Still, she would need a solid elimination order to make the operation succeed.

_Strike your enemy's heart when you can, but ensure you can remove your hand when the deed is done._ Cyan had a funny way of talking about it, but she understood what he meant. She had to prioritize the targets by their ability to complicate the operation. That meant warning systems went at the top. The cameras would have to go first, followed by the spotter, lastly the guards outside.

It only took her a few seconds to drop the cameras, stationary targets had become so easy after all that practice with Cyan over the past months and they weren't even armored. She absorbed the recoil and kept going, turning her sights on the human targets. The inside spotter was only barely aware as the glass shattered in on him and two bullets passed through his head and torso. Outside, the guards were just turning towards the broken window when she hit the first one in the back of the head. The last one had enough time to turn his head and bare his panicked eyes to her scope before he followed. He fell with one less eye than when he started.

She lowered the weapon and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Something was wrong. She usually didn't experience problems with carrying out orders. And Cyan had told her to act without mercy, he had sanctioned her extermination of the men. It was okay, she was only following orders. So... why did it still feel wrong?

"Terra, with me," Cyan said tersely, motioning with his free hand to follow.

She nodded and lifted herself from the cobblestone pavement to a standing position. Advancing with her handler to the now unguarded adobe gateway, she began scanning the surroundings while Cyan keyed in an access code they'd received from their intel source.

The gates began to open and Cyan stepped back, allowing her to pass him by and clear the route. She hurried on, resting her finger on the trigger as she swept the surroundings. The old, stucco encrusted buildings watched silently as she approached the main structure. Some of the support staff had said that the compound was once a church. Terra hadn't been to many churches. She passed by them on the way to missions and sometimes heard talk of the grownups attending, but she'd never entered one herself, certainly never approached one for a visit. Their purpose was still a mystery to her.

A military or smuggling compound however, that she could understand.

The distant bang of a Winchester shotgun halted her reverie and reminded her that she wouldn't be taking things at her own pace this time. With Triela closing in from one side, it would be Terra and Cyan's job to make sure General Leo didn't slip out the other end. Circling to the side, Terra hugged the wall of the compound and stopped when she had a profile of the main building's front.

The main building, or the 'chapel' as the adults called it in briefing, had three exits on this side according to the reconnaissance techs. One facing the gate and one on either side, all imminently connected to the sanctuary. Cristoph was projected to either be in the buildings to the south or the main building itself. Either way, his only escape lay along this route unless he felt like tangling with Triela. For a man of Cristoph's purported intelligence, that would be an awfully stupid move. More likely he would try to flee.

Of course, there was also the possibility that the other men in the compound would get the same idea once they caught on that Triela wasn't just some lost girl with a shotgun. That might be a problem. Thumbing the selective fire switch, Terra made sure her Dragunov was set to fully automatic to deal with the anticipated crowds.

She didn't have to wait long. The front doors to the main building were thrown open to allow a collection of roving carbine barrels out. Sticking to the shadows, Terra waited for the group to abandon their cover as Triela closed in. Judging from the volume of the gunfire continuing inside, that wouldn't be too long.

Apparently, the gunmen at the door of the chapel were well aware of this.

"All clear?" One of them asked in a hoarse whisper.

"...The gate. Why is the gate open? Where are Tereci and Dominic?"

"Maybe they came in ta search the grounds when the fighting started," the first one growled impatiently. "We can't worry 'bout that right now. We need ta clear a way for the general and we need it _now_."

The door facing the side of the building Terra was waiting at began to creak open. An ordinary girl might squeeze her eyes shut and pray it was just the wind. Terra took it as her cue to begin the approach. Unloading a spray of five bullets into the wooden door, she was rewarded with a dull thump as a limp body fell out onto the grounds.

Out of the main entrance, a man came running. He got three shots off, all above Terra's head, before she riddled his vitals with lead.

Taking the offensive, she burst out of the shadows and strafed the entrance. She unloaded the remainder of her clip on the men inside before they could react and did a quick visual scan of the inside for additional hostiles.

None.

Changing out the magazine, she backed up until she had a clear view of the far side entrance and confirmed no one was trying to sneak around that way.

She sighed and sank into a crouch. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Maybe Triela would kill the General. Part of Terra hoped so. She was tired of killing tonight. If the other girl got to him first, she wouldn't mind.

But on the other hand, she also wanted Cyan to be happy. Lately she hadn't been doing very good at work and that made Cyan angry. Well... maybe angry wasn't what she meant. Doctor Bianchi would've been able to tell her the right words. Upset was more like it. It made him upset when she didn't kill when asked to. She didn't want to kill, but for him she would kill anyone.

She just thought that sometimes he didn't want to kill either.

Movement in the chapel drew a burst of instinctive shots out of her rifle. Steadying the firearm, she reanalyzed the shadows and began a slight approach. It could be a diversion, but if it was the General she would have to pursue and eliminate without regard for anything else. He was the target, the one person who really had to die tonight. If she killed him, it was over.

If only it could be over now...

The gunfire from the other end of the compound had gone silent. As Terra took a hesitant step forward, she wondered where Triela was, and if the other girl would flush out the survivor in the chapel. Maybe if she just stood here and covered the entrance it would all end okay.

"Terra," Cyan addressed her in a soft voice, approaching from behind. "Take the chapel. I'll cover you here."

She sighed and lowered her rifle to the ground. "Yes sir," she answered dutifully.

The Dragunov, though potent, would be too cumbersome in close quarters. Leaving the rifle with Cyan, she drew her Glock and proceeded towards the main building. The men she'd killed earlier were still there at the entrance with their blood staining the white stone steps. Moving carefully over them, she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior before going in all the way.

"My God... Terra? Is that you?"

She froze with her finger on the trigger as General Leo Cristoph rose out of the empty pews and stared at her with a terrifying mix of sadness and familiarity.

"Terra, you survived? Thank God! How? How are you still alive?"

Her nerves screamed at her to pull the trigger as he took a step forward. Why did he know her? Why was he thanking God for a girl who had come to kill him? There was no way he couldn't see the pistol in her hands, why didn't he understood why she was there?

"Tell me, did He send you? Are you alone?"

Who? Did who send her? Did he know Cyan? Or did he mean Director Lorenzo?

"Terra, I'm so sorry. Sorry for all that happened to you. But if you come with me now, I promise I'll try to make it right again. I promise you won't have to kill anymore."

The man's voice had begun to tremble. Was he crying? What was he sad about? None of it made any sense. She needed to shoot him. That was the one thing Cyan wanted her to do tonight and it was the one thing her limbs refused to do. What in the world was stopping her?

"I..." she said with an effort. "I'm here to kill you, General Cristoph."

They locked eyes with each other.

"I see," he sighed. "...I wish it could be another way. I'm sorry I didn't stop them. I'm sorry to you, and Celes, and every one of the children He used. But if my penance is to die by your hand, then please: just end me now.

"Do it." he knelt and traced a cross over his forehead. "Lay me to rest."

She stood paralyzed with tears welling up in her eyes as something in her understood. Celes, the other children, General Leo, the soldiers, the civilians, the blood, and Him, the man who made them all do it.

_I don't want to kill anymore_.

She wasn't standing in the chapel anymore, she was on a wooden ship deck in the pouring rain. He stood at the bow, watching the restless waters as if in a trance.

"Awake again, Brat?" He asked casually, not bothering to turn around. "We'll be in Trapani soon. Get below deck before I lose my temper."

_Never again_. She raised the gun in her trembling hands, His old handgun he'd left lying around, an antique revolver design with an extra, smooth bore barrel under the primary one. He'd cleaned it himself only an hour ago. The lead ball inside was more destructive than a normal round, though harder to find. She lined it up with the back of his head and took a step forward. The gun had terrible accuracy retention. She only had one shot at this.

"What? You didn't get enough last time? I guess I'll have to play rough—"

The boat lurched and he was cut off as the lead ball broke into his left shoulder blade. Crumpling to the deck, he lay silent as she repeatedly pulled back the hammer and began unloading the normal cartridges at him. _Never again_.

A gunshot from behind broke it all. She was back in the chapel. General Cristoph was on the ground, clutching his chest. Her Glock was still pointed at him.

"I... didn't want to. I'm sorry."

Tears wanted to come, but they stayed frozen in her eyes instead of spilling out. She wanted to sink to her knees and cry. She wanted to be back home at the Agency, folding flowers that were any color but blood red. She wanted to take back everything, all the hurt and sadness, and just live without touching her gun again.

But she couldn't. The trigger had already been pulled and she had been the one who pulled it.

}§{

"Do it. Lay me to rest."

Having traced the General this far, Triela stopped to watch from the shadows as the man and Terra confronted each other. The girl just stood there with her gun aimed at him as he kneeled in submission.

Triela trained her Winchester shotgun on the man's back, but otherwise remained motionless. Although they did their best to hide it, word had gotten around that Terra wasn't performing up to snuff. Triela didn't mind handing over a kill to help another girl's record. She figured giving Terra the crowning moment of the operation would be enough to let the younger girl get back on her feet.

But now here she was, watching as her peer stared down their target and didn't pull the trigger.

_C'mon, what are you waiting for? _Triela almost felt annoyed enough to take back the offering and kill him herself. It was late, and she wanted to go home.

That was right around when Signore Garamonde showed up behind Terra and fired.

The General absorbed the impact with a sharp grunt and fell forward. Triela sighed and turned away. It wasn't quite what she'd been shooting for, but it would have to do. The target was taken care of, she could go and rest now.

The younger girl's voice echoed after her as she left. "I... didn't want to. I'm sorry."

_Didn't want what? To shoot the target? Now that's funny_, Triela thought to herself, walking back through the hallways she'd cleared minutes earlier. The smell of gun smoke was still thick from the firefight. _It's not like we want much. We want our handlers to be happy, and we want a little attention from them now and then; but we don't really make a big point of wanting things. _

_There's also not much we really don't want. None of us want to die, and none of us want to be alone. I guess some of us don't want our handlers to be devoted to another relationship, but that's more specifically just Henrietta. _

_If Terra doesn't want to kill, I wonder how she got that way. What did she do to form a want that wasn't conditioned into her?_

She exited the back of the compound, where Hilshire, her handler, was waiting. "Any trouble while I was in?" she asked, giving her own glance over the surroundings. The bullet peppered courtyard was all just as she left it.

"None," Hilshire answered curtly. "I take it the General is—"

He was cut off as his own radio link crackled and emitted the all clear they'd been waiting for.

"_This is Cyan Garamonde. General Leo Cristoph has been executed. Mission successful."_

Triela slung her rifle over her shoulder and started off the church grounds. "Great, now can we go home? I don't know how much longer I can stay awake on two hours of sleep."

"...Very well," Hilshire replied and started after her. They both knew it was more playful banter than an actual complaint. The Cyborgs could stay up for nearly three days straight if their handler's asked them to. It was amazing what they could do when they were doing it for their handler.

_So why didn't Terra shoot the General?_ The question nagged at the back of her mind. She contemplated bringing it up to Hilshire, but grudgingly decided against it. Hilshire liked to keep things strictly business and he got annoyed with questions that seemed to come out of nowhere, especially when he was already thinking. Asking him now would mean explaining why it was pertinent; and since she didn't really know that herself, just waiting until she could talk it over with her roommate, Claes, was probably a better choice.

_I just hope I remember_. _It'd be awful to go that far just to forget_.

}§{

"I... didn't want to. I'm sorry."

The mixed-blood handler glanced at his paralyzed charge before stepping forward and lifting the wounded general by his shirt collar.

"What have you done to Terra?" Cyan asked calmly, staring into the man's slowly glazing eyes. There was still enough life in him for a few questions though, which was why Cyan hadn't shot him in the head.

The general's labored breathing punctuated his reply. "You're... hers?"

"Terra belongs to me, yes," Cyan replied impatiently. "So whatever the blazes you did to her, you answer to me for it."

"She's... one of His... soldiers." The man coughed as blood began to coat his lips. "Or... used to be. She's free now... yes?"

Cyan paused. Why hadn't he seen it earlier? A mercenary general who had been involved in conflicts with Child soldiers who had then gone to ground right around the same time Terra was found in Trapani.

"...Terra was one of them? One of the child soldiers?"

Cristoph nodded jerkily. "The best of her... of her group. He tried to... to take her across from Tunis... when we... we started to find out... how He did it. We thought... we didn't think he was using... children."

"But you worked with them, didn't you?"

"It was a two pronged... maneuver," Cristoph explained. "Two groups... both moving through the interior... meeting up in Tunisia. Those who hired us... told us our efforts would dethrone warlords. They promised us... that the people could finally be free... because of us."

A bit of warm blood trickled down to Cyan's hand as he silently absorbed the story. The rogue general they'd marked for death, nothing more than a sad, misguided freedom fighter who had joined up with the wrong group. Still... it had been his decision to join the Sicilians after that.

"Tell me, General," Cyan said slowly. "After discovering your glorious cause was so grievously soiled, why did you further stoop and throw your lot in with the Cosa Nostra?"

The general released a wet and strangled chuckle. "I... I'm a stained man anyway. I thought... if I could find an inroad to Italy... to track Him down... to make him pay for what...what he did..."

"And just who is He?"

"...Palazzo."

_Palazzo, a term referring to a palace or other elaborate buildings made for the upper class_. That didn't make any sense. Cyan narrowed his eyes."Elaborate."

"Him. Palazzo. The Nightmare. Kef..." Cristoph choked and began spitting up more blood.

"The Nightmare..." the handler repeated, lowering the convulsing general onto the chapel floor. _That which haunts Terra._

"Please..." Cristoph pleaded weakly as the attack subsided. "If... if He's still out there... free her from Him."

Cyan regarded the dying man with a wary gaze before looking back at his still frozen cyborg. She hadn't moved an inch and her eyes were glossed over in shock. Seeing Cristoph in person had triggered something, God knew what. He sighed and returned his dark eyes to the general.

"I promise you Terra will move forward," he told the general gently. "I promise you she will survive."

"...Good. I can... I can die... knowing someone will undo... our mistakes."

Lifting his Beretta once more, Cyan aimed for the man's head, ended his misery with a clean shot, and looked away.

"This is Cyan Garamonde," he said into his lapel microphone, maintaining a professional tone with some effort. "General Leo Cristoph has been executed. Mission successful."

On the way out, he took Terra's left hand off her Glock and clasped it in his right. She obediently followed, remaining silent until they reached the spot where she'd left her Dragunov.

"Cyan?" she croaked. "I'm sorry I..." she swallowed, "...I didn't finish him."

He closed his eyes and sighed before he retrieved her rifle himself. What was he supposed to say?How was he supposed to reassure her? _Quite alright, my dear, you've shot enough people tonight. The Agency will be well pleased with the kill count. I am certain they'll overlook your disregard for orders since you're a former child soldier who's seen enough carnage for one lifetime. _

"Will you be alright?" he asked tentatively. In the end, that was what really mattered, right?

The girl lowered her head, letting her curled bangs spill forward more than usual. The light locks lost their normally brilliant shine in the shadows of the Churchyard. "I... I don't know."

"Can you tell me what's the matter?" _If we can pin it down maybe we can resolve it on our own. Maybe we can still do this without resorting to conditioning. Maybe there's still hope._

"No... there's too much wrong with me," she told him quietly while shaking her head. "Whatever it is... I just don't know what we can... Cyan?"

"Yes, Terra?"

"Please... recondition me."

Cyan Garamonde felt his grip tighten around the Dragunov rifle as he froze in his tracks just shy of the gates leading back to the street.

}§{

"Reconditioning? You're sure about this?"

Doctor Bianchi's concern was rather blatant in both his tone and expression. The others in the small conference room, Jean, Director Lorenzo, and a conditioning specialist doctor Cyan did not quite recognize, didn't seem as fazed by the request.

"It's possible. We can have it done by the end of the week," the conditioning doctor noted evenly, his bald head bobbing in concurrence. Light from the lone window on the east wall shone off his smooth, bare scalp like a third white eye staring vacantly at who knew what.

Jean folded his arms and continued to silently stare at Cyan. The head of the handlers hadn't expressed disagreement with the decision, but he didn't seem very enthused by it either. Of course, there was little Jean Croce wasn't skeptical of, so for all Cyan knew this could be normal.

At the head of the table, Director Pietro Lorenzo nodded and leaned forward towards his clasped hands. "Your request is granted, Garamonde," the director pronounced. "But as we are still collecting data on how to improve the various facets of our program we'll have to ask you to file a report of conditions leading up to this decision in addition to your usual debriefing."

"Understood," Cyan answered resolutely. Showing indecision now would only make things worse for him. Worse for Terra. "I'll have both ready to turn in by tomorrow. How soon can we begin?"

"Tomorrow should work," said the conditioning doctor as he consulted a schedule. "Do you want us to apply a stronger dosage than the last?"

Lorenzo shifted his gaze to the other present medical professional. "Doctor Bianchi, do you have an opinion on the matter?"

"It's... something of a unique case," Bianchi admitted reluctantly. "We suspected Terra would react differently from the outset because of pre-conditioning magitek infusion."

"Her what?"

All eyes turned to look at Cyan.

"You didn't know?" Bianchi asked.

Cyan shifted in his seat as he hurriedly searched through his memory for some clue of what they were referring to. Unfortunately, obscure cutting edge medical terminology was not something he often paid attention to.

The conditioning doctor sighed and attempted to explain. "The conditioning mix is what we use to ensure the body won't reject the cybernetic implants as well as put the girls in a more... malleable state of mind."

_Malleable... _Cyan grimaced. _That's a gentle way of putting it_.

"Magitek is an experimental technology that we contracted just before you and Terra began work here," the bald man continued. "In relation to the cyborgs, it is projected to strengthen the subject, enhance lifespan, and increase implant integration rates. Furthermore, we projected far more potency in all these areas in a patient who had not yet undergone conditioning.

"However... magitek also has an odd effect of limiting the memory drain experienced by some of our earlier patients, like Angelica. Infused post-conditioning, this is fairly unproblematic because it allows for a steeper learning curve and a few other benefits. Pre-conditioning though... well, we'd assumed that Terra's past was forgotten anyway due to her condition prior to the treatments; but if she's malfunctioning due to memory resurgence then it would appear we were wrong."

Cyan stared blankly at the man.

"In short, it is suspected that Terra's magitek infusion will prompt the use of higher levels of conditioning to achieve a satisfactory reconditioning," Bianchi translated his colleagues statement.

"Are you alright with that, Garamonde?"

Jean probably did not mean for the question to sound antagonistic but his natural blunt attitude certainly curved it that way.

"Whatever it takes to keep Terra up and running," The half-Japanese handler confirmed.

"It's all speculation at this point, but her quality of life may drop a little after the procedure," Jean informed him coolly. "Given some of your... previous sentiments regarding Terra, you'd rather proceed with the operation than retire her now?"

The room fell silent as they waited for Cyan's response. It was not that he hadn't been expecting this moment, only that now his prepared response seemed out of place. The words he had carefully laid out to explain his conviction to them suddenly felt thin and clumsy. Emotional words of courage had little effect on men of science, after all.

Unfortunately, Cyan could formulate no better way to express such ideas. So brushing back his ebony hair, he cleared his throat and simply tried with the original script.

"Life grows fragile over time," he told his associates in the small conference room. "When it is young and broken, there is yet hope to reconcile it. While Terra may not be a 'fresh' subject, I'd rather believe in her potential to overcome the setbacks of reconditioning than resign her to a premature end. Though I have no proof this will work, I'll accept what consequences I must to see her through."

"That's very admirable, Garamonde." The voice the director used for the comment was much less appreciative than the words themselves. "However, although we can appreciate the use a strong team ethic, we favor utility over ideal here at the Agency. In the instance that someone somehow manages to actually kill your cyborg, will you still be able to operate on the field and subsequently be reassigned?"

Cyan sighed and addressed his superior. "Director Lorenzo, I consider this to be my final employment. I will give my all for your cause so long as I have Terra by my side. Should you attempt to discard her, I will fight you every step of the way. Should you succeed, it is likely I will retire. I have read over my contract very carefully and understand my terms of service completely. Please, do not try to bend them against me."

"... I see then," the director replied simply. "Your sentiments are noted."

"Am I to be terminated then?" The question, though alarmingly straightforward, was only appropriate given the situation. Or so Cyan hoped. It wasn't exactly like he was seeing eye to eye with them lately.

Lorenzo shook his head in reply, his thin rimmed spectacles shifting slightly with the motion. "No, you haven't committed anything that serious yet. The Social Welfare Agency thanks you for your continued cooperation and hereby permits the ongoing use of Subject zero-sixteen 'Terra' until she is rendered inoperable. Will you agree to these terms, Mr. Garamonde?"

Cyan ran a hand over his mustache and looked over at his present fellow handler again. If Jean was shocked, he was refusing to show it. The stern blond returned Cyan's gaze with his usual penetrating intensity. An uncompromising professional, Jean would follow whatever the director said, despite his own misgivings. It was fortunate that such a man was head of the handlers. Cyan could think of few other ways to stomach such a position.

As for his own job, it appeared that his original impressions seemed fairly insightful. They wanted him to keep performance as his highest priority and didn't really care what he did outside of that so long as it didn't hamper the Agency. If they thought that letting him have Terra was the most efficient way to get the job done, they would let him have her. Keeping them both around was less troublesome than trying to replace them. Or at least, for now it was.

"Mr. Garamonde?"

"Yes, Director," he responded solemnly. "I agree."

For now, he would accept what hope he could find. Considering both their pasts, the future could have been a far bleaker sight without the aid of the Social Welfare Agency.

}§{

"Terra?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It is good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Tired... and a little empty. Have I been asleep long?"

"I suppose you could say that. Anything else? Anything you remember?"

"Not much... is that bad, Cyan?"

"..."

"Cyan?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just... glad you're awake again. Here."

"A flower?"

"A silk flower. I had some time to myself when you were sleeping. Keep it away from the moths and it should last you awhi—Umph!"

"Thank you, Cyan."

"Be a bit more careful will you? You haven't fully regained your fine motor capabilities yet. It won't do for me to go into the infirmary just as you're getting out of it."

"S-sorry sir! I... I guess I'm just... not used to this. To my body, I mean."

"Terra?"

"Yes, Cyan?"

"There's something I must ask. Please answer me truthfully."

"Yes, Cyan."

"...Will you kill if I ask you to?"

"Yes, Cyan."

"Do you want to kill?"

"No, Cyan."

"Then why will you kill?"

"...I... I don't know yet."

"...Remember this, Terra. So long as you are alive, there is hope for someone through you. Understood?"

"... I think so, Cyan."

"Thank you. I'll be back again soon. Training begins in two days. Until then, I have but one order for you."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Rest."

Jean removed the headphones and looked away from the transparent side of the one way mirror. He was glad this was over; now he could get back to worrying about volatile factors outside the Agency rather than within. Cyan wasn't as broken as he had been when he first joined, but he would still follow orders fairly easily. Once he stabilized completely maybe he'd be more open to adopting another cyborg after Terra's inevitable demise. Until then, there was still a lot of use the Agency could get out of the odd fratello.

What fascinated and frustrated Jean about the two was that the cyborg was no less nuanced than the handler. Cyan approached things in a blunt, almost instinctive manner dictated by personal "honor"—though personal sentiment was likely more prominent in the process than the former bodyguard would admit. And Terra... the first cyborg to experience an aversion to killing.

It was kind of ironic, once Jean thought about it. Some of the staff of the Public Safety Bureau reviled the idea of the child-formed assassin's who felt no remorse for their victims. Now that they could see what it did to one that _could_ feel, Jean only wondered how long it would be before they rethought their position. To him it was simple: the government needed effective killers and the cyborgs were the way to do it. That they could do their job without being affected was a positive aspect in his eyes. But then, he only had eyes for one thing: the end of the Padania terrorists.

His perspective was self-admittedly skewed. Effective, but skewed. He could tolerate others though, especially when they proved useful. And even though he strongly suspected the reconditioning hadn't actually purged Terra of her feelings, he did believe Cyan and Terra could still prove very useful to the Social Welfare Agency.

}§{

**~Author's Note:~**

Kuru hi: roughly Japanese for "The Coming Sun".

Thus concludes the first arc of expansion. Got a review? Please leave it! Just the fact that you read this is already a huge support, but anything above that is also greatly appreciated. Feedback from a fandom I am not entirely familiar with is also always a plus. Read/watch Gunslinger Girl? I'd _love_ to hear from you on what you thought. Play Final Fantasy? I'd be just as happy to have a chat about that too.

Next up in the Dual Trigger Condizionata Complementare, Jose's Triptych: Fratello/Distanza/Cielo. _All things considered, some of the staff began to wonder who Jose Croce really saw as his family once he took Henrietta in. It was none of _their _business, naturally, but it was an interesting question all the same._

~Research Notes:~

**Redhawk Revolver: **Predecessor to the Super Redhawk and a competitor with the popular Smith and Wesson designs, the Ruger Redhawk Revolver first appeared on the market in 1979 and was popular with hunters and trappers for its high durability and ability to handle higher stress loads like those produced by the .44 magnum cartridge.

**LeMat Revolver:** A unique firearm of underground renown from the American Civil War. The LeMat is usually recognized by it's "undermounted" smoothbore secondary barrel that protrudes from the center of the 9 shot cylinder feeding into the top barrel. Although only 2,900 originals are estimated to have been produced, modern replicas began production in 1985 and have bolstered these meager numbers.

**Cosa Nostra: **The insiders' name for the Sicilian Mafia and their American cousins.

**Camorra:** An Italian Mafia based in southern Italy.


End file.
